


Sunken Stars Appear

by Rubynye



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-08
Packaged: 2018-01-15 00:57:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1285270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bilbo and Bofur comfort each other after the Battle of Five Armies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunken Stars Appear

Bofur's cheek prickles, needlessly bandaged. Truly, he lost naught but half his mustache, which all told is luck indeed; still, an Elven healer gripped his chin in a twig-fingered hand, smeared honey salve on the ragged stubble, and wound this long band over it, across his nose, which itches, and behind his ear.

He could undo it, Bofur thinks as he wanders the camp, a chill-breezed tent city full of distant groans. He could go back, laugh it off, sit beside Bifur to watch Bombur sleep off his bruises. But all laughter's hushed beneath the memory of the fading light in Thorin's eyes, the effortful wheezes between rumbled words as Thorin thanked Bofur for his family's service. He will not again see their King Beneath The Mountain, nor bright-haired Fili nor brave young Kili bear the crown of Durin's line; his heart lies heavy within him as he follows Thorin's last command. _Find Bilbo._

So Bofur does, tracking muffled sobs behind a deep-rooted tree to a draggled blanket and a dear tousled head bent over broken sobs. He knows, laying a hand on Bilbo's shoulder, as wet red eyes look up to his, that Bilbo has heard Thorin's final goodbye.

His lips part but no cheer emerges, his chest tightening, heart aching. Bilbo shrugs down the blanket, reaching for him, and even as Bofur tries, "Bilbo, don't --" his voice cracks on a sob. Bilbo just shakes his head, still crying, pulls Bofur in with his surprising strength and throws the blanket around him, another layer of embrace as they wind into a weeping knot .

At length, Bofur's wept out, but even so he can't lift Bilbo, can't raise himself, can only thread his fingers through Bilbo's curls, stroke after stroke as Bilbo's racking sobs slowly abate. It's Bilbo who shifts them, squirming from beneath Bofur's hand, burrowing under the blanket as Bofur blinks surprise. Nimble fingers push under his tunic, undoing his buckle as he gasps, wordless twice over; Bilbo's curls ruffle his bared belly, Bilbo's still-trembling mouth engulfs him, Bilbo swallows around him and Bofur's mouth gapes like a landed fish's. All he can do is _feel_ , from Bilbo's soft hot suckle outwards, his unbroken skin, his tear-burned cheeks, his damp bandage and trusty hat cushioning his head from rough bark, his hands cautious on Bilbo's shoulders as Bilbo curls over his legs and sucks his prick through stony hardness and beyond to fleshly throbbing. "Bilbo," is all Bofur can whisper, coals rising to flame, so like the roused blood of battle, utterly the opposite.

All Bofur knows is Bilbo snuggled close, Bilbo dragging pleasure up through him, reminding him he is whole. His peak wrings the last tears from his eyes but unwinds all in him till he's fully unstrung, thrumming with the life left him.

The life their heirs of Durin have lost. Bofur opens his eyes to the sky, upon a white star like a diamond set in lapis. A last lick, a soft kiss, and Bilbo tucks him away; a breath, two, three, and Bofur gently tugs him up face to face.

Bilbo's eyes are sunk deep, his nose scorched red, his sidelong smile heartbreaking; Bofur doesn't even try for words, just kisses him, tasting bitter tears, his own savor, Bilbo's sweetness. A questing stroke finds Bilbo hard; he tenses, sighs and slumps, easy upon Bofur's chest as Bofur strokes him through his breeches, pressing just hard enough, feeling each tremble, every gasp. Soon enough Bilbo's puffing, nearly to the crest, _there_ , and Bofur slips his fingers in so Bilbo will bedew them rather than messing his breeches.

He wins a chuckle for it, crushed and low, and a kiss on his bandage; then Bilbo digs up the dun rag Bofur gave him for a kerchief so long ago, and it's Bofur's turn to laugh, to watch Bilbo's smile bloom small but real as he licks his palm and dries it.

Their ablutions done, Bilbo sighs, glancing at the drowsing camp, peering into the night cold and clear around them. Just as Bofur thinks to say they might go in, Bilbo murmurs tear-hoarsely, " _The world is grey, the mountains old, The forge's fire is ashen-cold._ "

Bofur squeezes him for it, and tucks the blanket up around them. " _But still the sunken stars appear In dark and windless Mirrormere._ " Bilbo smiles, faint and true, leaning upon Bofur's shoulder, and shuts his sore eyes as Bofur whisper-sings to them both, " _There lies his crown in water deep, till Durin wakes again from sleep._ "


End file.
